


Miracle Morning

by whichstiel



Series: Season 13 Codas [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s13e01 Lost and Found, Gen, Lost and Found, Miracles, North Cove, SPN 13x01, Season/Series 13, Sheriff's report, Washington
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-17 00:49:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12353964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichstiel/pseuds/whichstiel
Summary: Miracles and mysterious events occurred in North Cove, Washington in the days before Jack was born.





	Miracle Morning

**Case Number:** 000218

 **Responding Officer:** Sheriff Christine Barker

On May 19, 2017 at 0740 hrs, I was dispatched to Pirate Pete's on Shoreline Road in reference to a person – possibly under the influence - disturbing the peace. Upon arrival I encountered the person of interest, “Jack,” outside the establishment.

Though unarmed and unclothed, Jack appeared to be lucid. I took him down to the station as a possible missing person. I providing clothing from the lost and found then tried to determine his identity. Physically he seemed healthy – no dilation of pupils, track marks, injuries, blood.

I attempted to run his prints to see if I could get a hit in any of the criminal or missing persons databases. The thumbprint was useless, straight lines instead of whorls, as though it had been chemically reshaped. I would have tried the other hand, or all ten fingers, but that's when a man claiming to be “Agent Barry from the FBI” called looking for Jack. And then the lights began to flicker.

We've had a number of power surges in the past month so this wasn't entirely unusual. As is procedure, though, I got up to check the breakers. When I did so I heard Jack laughing and found him and my son, Clark Barker, sitting in the break room. As I observed him, Jack touched the vending machine. Lights flickered and the machine's dispensers spun at his touch. Jack fell into distress and I was then knocked against the vending machine by a percussive wave apparently generated by Jack. I blacked out briefly and when I woke I pursued Jack through the station. I found him unconscious with two men standing over him. I booked them initially, however I let them go following a conversation with one of them, Dean Winchester. He claimed to hunt monsters.

And I believed him.

I'm going to have to rewrite this report. I know this, but I've got to get it out on paper at least once to help me process everything that happened.

Dean Winchester said he hunted monsters and that things like angels and magic are real. And I believed him. Because I've seen miracles this week and unusual phenomena for the last month.

Early May in the Cove can feel like paradise. The world is waking up after the winter has passed and green passes like a cloak over the ground. This spring unfolded like any other until the storms started. At least three times a week we've had unseasonably fierce storms – the kind that rip trees from the ground and hurl them several feet into the waves. Our shores are full of storm churned kindling right now and the docks have been a right mess. Several times unusual lightning has been reported. Saint Elmo's Fire has draped itself over isolated houses in our small downtown and ball lightning has casually rolled through the thick woods on the cove as though it's searching for something it lost.

I'm the Sheriff, not the weatherman, so aside from directing cleanup I've let the storms pass unremarked in my reports. They have been odd though. I feel like my skin hasn't stopped prickling for the last two weeks. Like I'm standing out in the middle of an electrical storm and all the energy is focusing down on this town.

On May 2, 2017 I got a call to head out to the Cavendish cabin. Some unhappy AirB&B renters had, what they termed, “a problem with wildlife.” They'd refused to give dispatch any other details. I brought the shotgun, in case there was an animal there that needed to be put down. Before I even arrived, I knew the shotgun would be useless. County Road AD is a narrow paved road, unremarkable and rarely traveled except by fishermen on the weekends. When the road ahead of me turned green I thought it was a mirage brought on by the setting sun. When my tires hit the first insects, popping them against the road, I understood what I was looking at.

Grasshoppers. The road teemed with them, thick as storm surge and surrounding the Cavendish cabin. I drove through them, over them, until I got to the property. Green insects swarmed the walls of the cabin, crawled over the doors and the windows. I saw occasional glimpses of the two renters in the living room and though I'm no fan of insects, I went outside. The bugs churned around my ankles, climbed on my pants and pricked at the cuffs. I went to the door and, with few words exchanged, escorted those renters out of the cabin and to my car. I drove them away myself. They said their car wouldn't start – insects in the gas tank, we found out later. As I drove them to town and away from the swarm I saw it lift into the sky in my rearview. Those locusts rose like a giant standing up slowly after a long rest. They ascended into the air, that mighty swarm, and flew away. Other than the stray bugs that I spent two days picking out of my car, they haven't been seen since.

On May 10, 2017 I drove out to meet Arnie Scarentosh at the High Peak trailhead. He'd called me directly and been terse on the phone. He said I wouldn't believe him – nobody would believe him – but he had to tell someone. When I got there he was sitting in his truck in the gravel lot, back ramrod straight. He looked at me when I pulled up but didn't move a muscle. I had to walk to his truck and open the door. I climbed onto the passenger seat and asked him what was wrong.

He'd been deer hunting, he said, and shot a doe. He'd walked through the thick, low grasses to the animal. Even from far away he could see he'd hit it square in the chest. It didn't move when he approached. Blood pooled from its heart into the ground. Arnie had busied himself in getting ready to haul the animal out to his truck when he heard grasses shifting beside him. When he looked up, he said, the deer had its head up and turned towards him. It watched him with a steady, black gaze for nearly a minute before its jaw dropped open. The deer seemed to moan at him, a strange modulated tone that he said was so mesmerizing, he forgot to pull out his knife or his gun and finish the apparently botched kill. Then, the deer spoke. “It has been foretold,” it said with a deep bellow. Then it rolled its legs beneath itself until it stood towering over Arnie, blood still trailing like ribbons from the ragged hole in its chest. It walked away from him and disappeared into the woods.

I promised Arnie I would check it out. Following his direction, I searched for the site of the kill. Blood pooled there, the grasses compressed as though from a large body. A trail of blood led into the woods for several yards before it stopped. I managed to follow hoof prints for a quarter mile until they also disappeared.

Last week the Smith farm reported the birth of an all white foal. The veterinarian swore up and down that the damn horse glowed in the darkness of the barn as it emerged, as though with some kind of celestial light.

Four days ago my aunt Gina, who has been in hospice for the past month waiting for her cancer to consume her, woke up early. She went outside, she said, and looked at the sunrise over the mountains. She felt light as though she might fly away at any moment, and she thought death was near. But she was filled with so much vigor that she stayed outside all morning. Upon the advice of her nurse she went to the doctor, and upon her doctor's advice she went to the county hospital. Her cancer is gone. It disappeared as suddenly and mysteriously as that locust cloud.

So I was not entirely unprepared for one naked man who seemed to wield electricity like it was a plaything. I was not entirely unreceptive to a story of monsters and angels. I rode to the hospital with my son and prayed for a miracle to heal him too. That didn't happen and I spent the night waiting outside of surgery and recovery rooms. When I returned to the station, Jack and the Winchesters were gone. And with them, apparently, the miracles.

Well, most of them. On May 19, 2017 at 2000 hrs, Deputy Anders went out to a little remote rented cabin out on the lake. He was investigating a report of a fire – possibly large enough to be a structure fire - and though we're not in fire season, he decided to check it out. His report described the remains of a massive bonfire. When I drove up there the next day, I had to hike around for several minutes before I was able to find the scene of the fire. Even the stench of smoke had dissipated. In its place, wild blue hyacinths nodded in the breeze in a thick carpet that covered the entire clearing. The flowers grew along the lakeshore and up to the very edge of the house. They were all in full bloom, especially thick over the burn site. There was something about the site that felt almost holy, like a church grown straight from the ground. I stayed there for almost an hour. When I left I felt as though I had left a darkness behind, consumed by that light, wild place.

Things have settled down now here but I can't help but feel that this town has been touched by something close to the divine. This morning I drove two miles out of my way before heading to work, and stopped by the hyacinth patch. They seemed to nod in the light breeze as if in greeting as I waded out to the thickest patch growing on the fire-blacked earth. I stood and looked out over the water, and wondered at all I had seen.

The world is wide and wild and beautiful.

I'll delete this now and write the report that will become part of public record.

 

 

 **Case Number:** 000218

 **Responding Officer:** Sheriff Christine Barker

On May 19, 2017 at 0740 hrs, I was dispatched to Pirate Pete's on Shoreline Road in reference to a person – possibly under the influence - disturbing the peace. Upon arrival I encountered the person of interest, “Jack,” outside the establishment. I brought him to the station and held him until his relatives arrived.

 

 **Case Number:** 000219

 **Responding Officer:** Sheriff Christine Barker

On May 19, 2017 at 0230 hrs, three knife wielding attackers entered the station. One person, Clark Barker, was seriously injured in the attack. The attackers were killed in the assault and remain in the morgue, pending identification.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/whichstiel) and [Tumblr](http://whichstiel.tumblr.com/) @ whichstiel. You may also like the Supernatural recap and gif blog I co-write/curate, [Shirtless Sammy](https://shirtlesssammy.tumblr.com/).


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